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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26777338">gravity pulls, so make it work for you.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoods/pseuds/redhoods'>redhoods</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>fictober 2020. [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>UnDeadwood (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AND GAY, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, How do I tag this one, M/M, That's it, but soft, less gory, that's this fic, they're all some sort of cryptid, think amc's preacher</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:40:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,137</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26777338</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoods/pseuds/redhoods</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>And he thinks, maybe—but stepping closer, into the shade the building casts, he realizes it’s Arabella. Her red hair is piled on top of her head in a bun and she’s got a long skirt that’s swishing around her ankles with the breeze.</p>
<p>Matthew exhales, hard to believe that he’s glad to be back in Deadwood of all places.</p>
<p>“You gonna stand there all day or are you gonna come in?” Arabella calls from the porch.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Matthew Mason/Clayton Sharpe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>fictober 2020. [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951852</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>gravity pulls, so make it work for you.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is for fictober prompt cryptid. even though i started it... a year ago. i just checked, i started this october of LAST YEAR. hhhhhhhh.</p>
<p>anyways, i don't know what this au is in all sincerity. it's like undeadwood meets preacher, but softer and gayer. i didn't really have any sorta specific cryptids in mind for any of them either except aly's a vampire and arabella's a werewolf. the other three? i don't even think they know.</p>
<p>title is from richard siken's landscape with fruit rot and millipede.</p>
<p>
  <i>Why live a life? Well, why are you<br/>asking? I put on my best shirt because the painting<br/>looked so bad. Color bleeds, so make it work for you.<br/>Gravity pulls, so make it work for you. </i>
</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The wooden cross hanging from the rearview clacks off the dog tags also hanging there, sending them spinning, reflecting bright sunlight through the small cabin of the truck. Matthew squints against it, thinks about his sunglasses on top of his dresser, a shirt that’s collar isn’t stained with sweat.</p>
<p>More sweat slides down the back of his neck.</p>
<p>The air conditioner continues to splutter.</p>
<p>Suddenly, the radio kicks up, staticky and Johnny Cash warbles through the old speakers.</p>
<p>Matthew frowns, smells whiskey, hears shouting that isn’t there. He claps his hand on the plastic of the dash, near searing hot in the sun. The radio gets even worse, static taking over, the occasional audible <i>’down, down’</i> and <i>’wild desire’</i>, before it switches to some bubble gum pop thing that he’s heard Arabella listening to when she didn’t think any of them were around.</p>
<p>He smacks the dash again, casting a baleful look at the rusted nobs.</p>
<p>The radio cuts out once more.</p>
<p>Then the air conditioner splutters, gusts out hot air, and dies.</p>
<p>“Lord,” he says very carefully to the empty cabin, twisting the crank for the window, “give me strength.”</p>
<p>-----</p>
<p>‘Deadwood’ is what the sign should say, or will when they send some poor soul out to clean the spray paint off again. There’s an ‘r’ between the first two letters and the last three have been creatively turned into a dick and Matthew’ll deny it later that he snorts when he first sees it.</p>
<p>It’s just been him and the roar of the engine, the clank of dog tags and cross, for the last hour and he’s weirdly glad to see town again. At least, until he gets caught at the one red light for absolutely no through traffic and he remembers why it is he doesn’t actually like this place. And there’s only a portion of the people that are even tolerable. Yet, here he still returns.</p>
<p>His phone slides around the metal of the floorboards when he turns off the main thoroughfare. It clangs off the passenger door and he sighs, flexing his fingers around the gear shift. The whole thing jiggles his arm and he sags in relief as the outline of the church comes into view. </p>
<p>Somehow he’s forgotten the pothole and it bounces the whole truck when he hits it.</p>
<p>The air conditioner belches more hot air and the radio clicks back to life, loud static filling the cabin.</p>
<p>He rolls his eyes heavenward and doesn’t bothered smacking the dash this time as he pulls onto the dirt path that’ll take him to the church. There’s two cars there already and the knot in his chest eases a fraction, then as he’s pulling into park, he sees the bike tucked in the shade of the building and the knot releases fully.</p>
<p>The engine cuts out, leaving him in relative silence, save for the lingering ticking and knocking of the old engine as it cools. It isn’t until he’s out of the truck, duffle bag slung over his shoulder and phone scooped off the floorboards, that he realizes that someone is standing on the porch of the church.</p>
<p>And he thinks, maybe—but stepping closer, into the shade the building casts, he realizes it’s Arabella. Her red hair is piled on top of her head in a bun and she’s got a long skirt that’s swishing around her ankles with the breeze.</p>
<p>Matthew exhales, hard to believe that he’s glad to be back in Deadwood of all places.</p>
<p>“You gonna stand there all day or are you gonna come in?” Arabella calls from the porch.</p>
<p>Huffing out a laugh, he bumps the truck door shut and takes the handful of long strides to the stairs. On the middle step, he’s already eye level with Arabella so he stops there and grins at her, “Ma’am,” and laughs when she pushes at his shoulder before she envelopes him in a hug. He takes the last step, arms around her, lifting her up off the wood planks of the porch.</p>
<p>She claps him on the shoulder and he lowers her feet back to the floor, “You smell awful,” she says, but she’s smiling wide, “It’s good to have you back, Father.”</p>
<p>He snorts, rubbing a hand over his head, “Good to be back,” he agrees, letting her loop her arm through his and steer him through the open door of the church. When he’d left, it hadn’t even been properly on the hinges.</p>
<p>Stepping inside, the changes are obvious.</p>
<p>“No more holes,” he says quietly, though his voice echoes in the mostly empty sanctuary. There’s no sun peeking through the right wall or the ceiling. It’s still scorched, burn marks spreading out from the center of the right wall, across the floor as well. Where there is a floor anyhow, a good portion has been torn up, leaving a crater to the concrete below. All the pews have been shoved to the opposite side, covered up with a variety of tarps and sheets, like those covering the old piano and pulpit at the front.</p>
<p>It makes him think of a horror movie almost, with only a little sunlight streaming through the windows, casting stark shadows around, but it’s home and maybe now that he’s back, he can work on getting the electricity back to this place, “You all have been busy.”</p>
<p>(Realistically, maybe Clayton can figure out the electricity while he works on replacing the floorboards instead.)</p>
<p>Arabella snorts and pats his arm gently, “Not all of us,” she says with some sort of brevity.</p>
<p>When he opens his mouth to comment, she pats his arm again, “No, I mean, we all did help,” she carries on, “but mostly, its been Clayton.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” he says quietly.</p>
<p>She hums, “Yes.”</p>
<p>Warmth balloons in his chest and he lets Arabella propel him through the back of the church, passed what’s supposed to have been an office, but is only serving as a storage space now, and out the back door.</p>
<p>The old house is several yards from the back of the church and just the sight of it hits him in the chest full force, the final realization that he’s very much home. </p>
<p>For good this time.</p>
<p>“Needs a coat of paint,” Arabella says next to him, eye critical on the facade of the house.</p>
<p>He snorts quietly, “Needs a lot more than that,” he agrees, already making himself a list of the things he wants to accomplish, before winter sweeps in and blankets everything in so much snow and ice that he won’t be able to do anything.</p>
<p>An upstairs window is still cracked and several of them stick, the outside needs to be pressure washed and painted, there’s some loose boards on the old porch to replace before the old swing can be hung. The roof probably needs a fair amount of work still and he wonders if the carpet in the living room’s been pulled up yet.</p>
<p>“You got time,” she tells him and the first step creaks under their weight.</p>
<p>The front door is open, though the screen door is shut, but it doesn’t creak when they pull it open. Last time he’d used the thing, it’d shrieked to all hell, “Someone finally get tired of this thing?” He asks, quiet for no actual reason as he stops inside the door and kick off his old sneakers.</p>
<p>“Miriam went at it with, I think, half a bottle of WD-40 one day,” Arabella says with a grin that tells him it was a sight to behold.</p>
<p>He nods as drops his bag on the bottom stair, before Arabella is pulling him along down the hall and into the kitchen. There’s a radio playing some staticky top 40s on the counter and the ceiling fan is whirring away above them. Clayton’s back is to them at the sink, though it doesn’t seem like he’s washing anything, he still doesn’t turn.</p>
<p>“Aly, get your dang feet off my table,” he barks out, digging for impassioned reverend, and grinning all the while.</p>
<p>Aloysius turns a sly grin on him and is slow about it, but drops his feet to the floor, then rocks up onto them, “Not back five minutes and already on my tail,” he says, but comes in for a hug, both of them clapping each other too hard on the back.</p>
<p>To his side, Arabella laughs, “Maybe if you’d behave yourself for five minutes,” she teases, leaning her shoulder against the open entryway frame.</p>
<p>“Did someone just say ‘dang feet’ in this house of all places?”</p>
<p>Matthew turns after he releases Aloysius to find Miriam standing several paces back, hands on her hips. Her hair is half up, the rest spilling in curls down her neck and she’s got on some pretty red sundress that makes him cock an eyebrow, flicking his gaze from her to Arabella, “You look awfully nice, Miriam, got a date?”</p>
<p>She laughs and practically runs at him, lets him catch her around the waist, careful of his own head and the entry to the kitchen as he spins them around. Waits until he sets her back on her feet to pat him gently on the cheek, “Darling, we’re going dancing tonight,” she tells him.</p>
<p>“We?” he asks weakly, glancing at Arabella then Aloysius then back to Miriam.</p>
<p>They’re all grinning way too much.</p>
<p>“Consider it a welcome home,” Miriam tells him, smoothing her hands across his shoulders, squinting at his chest, “Did you get bigger?” She asks then shakes her head. “The Gem is doing cheap shots tonight,” she explains, patting his shoulders before she withdraws, “with a live band and everything.”</p>
<p>“I don’t suppose you had anything to do with that,” he says and Aloysius laughs as he walks back across the kitchen and pulls open the basement door. His laughter echoes even after he’s shut the door, getting distant as he takes the stairs down.</p>
<p>Arabella pats his arm in mock sympathy, “We couldn’t not celebrate you finally being home.”</p>
<p>Miriam grins at him as she loops her arm through Arabella’s, “It’s a special occasion, <i>Reverend</i>,” she says, syrupy sweet. The two of them turn together, walking for the door, though Miriam pulls them to a stop, looking over her shoulder, “Welcome home, Matthew.”</p>
<p>He offers her a smile, watching the two of them as they head out the front door.</p>
<p>“Subtle as a brick to the face,” Clayton says behind him.</p>
<p>Huffing out a breath, he turns, careful of his head on the frame once more, ducking properly into the kitchen finally, “Not complaining, are you?” He asks as he skirts around the table and chairs, pauses there waiting.</p>
<p>Clayton’s got his back against the counter now, smile small but there, eyes crinkling at the corners. He’s abandoned his hat to the space next to the sink and the shirt he’s wearing isn’t his own and Matthew swallows down a lot of sap about how he likes the view. Not that it matters, Clayton’s smile goes sly as he pushes away from the counter, “I think Miriam was right, you do look bigger.”</p>
<p>Ducking his head, he shrugs his shoulders, “Side effect,” he says, neck warm.</p>
<p>“Good, we could use the extra muscle fixing the floors in the church,” Clayton murmurs as he takes pointed steps closer.</p>
<p>“Just kiss already!” Aloysius shouts from below them.</p>
<p>Matthew stomps his socked feet on the floor a few times, but Clayton is sliding in close, footsteps silent as he curves a hand around the back of his neck, yanks him down to fit their mouths together. He sinks into it, sliding his arms around Clayton’s back, tugging him in flush, though careful to leave his feet on the ground.</p>
<p>The first tug almost causes him to stumble and Clayton laughs against his mouth, backs himself to the table. It’s loud and clear what he wants though and Matthew leans down, cups around his thighs, lifts him up onto the table, stepping between his spread thighs, hums against his mouth when Clayton’s legs wrap around his hips. </p>
<p>Clayton’s hand slides from his neck to the back of his head, scratching at the shorn hair, and the table creaks but they both know it’ll hold. </p>
<p>Then the back door swings up and Matthew breaks the kiss with a heaving sigh, pressing his face against Clayton’s shoulder. “Don’t mind me,” Miriam says, laughter clear in her voice, her shoes clicking gently off the floors as she walks to the fridge. The door of the fridge creaks open and there’s some rustling, “Just wanted some lemonade.”</p>
<p>She takes her sweet time, cabinets opening and closing, ice clinking into glass. Clayton’s quaking with quiet laughter and Matthew turns his head, drags kisses over the line of his neck until the hand on his head flexes, nails digging in a little.</p>
<p>“Carry on, boys,” she says and the back door shuts again.</p>
<p>Matthew huffs, “Why did we all think living in the same house was a good idea again?”</p>
<p>“No clue,” Clayton says, but he’s grinning. His palm comes to cover Matthew’s face though and he pushes gently, “You smell awful, get a shower.”</p>
<p>He’s expecting a snarky quip from below the floorboards, but nothing comes and he nods, canting his head back in the direction of the front stairs, “Want to join me?” He offers, low and wiggles his eyebrows just to hear Clayton snort.</p>
<p>“Why, Reverend,” Clayton starts, voice gone all high and sugary, like an approximation of Arabella’s but worse. Matthew ducks in and kisses him to cut it off, even though Clayton laughs against his mouth and they end up just breathing there, foreheads pressed together.</p>
<p>He squeezes Clayton’s thighs, “A man can dream.”</p>
<p>“One day we’ll get a big enough shower in this place,” Clayton agrees and pushes at his chest, creating enough space between them for him to drop to the floor. His hands linger though, “Get cleaned up, I promised I’d bribe you however I had to to get you to The Gem tonight.”</p>
<p>Cupping a hand over Clayton’s, he mocks affront, “All of you against me, I see how it is,” he says as grave as he can manage when he’s still smiling like a fool. He presses a kiss to Clayton’s forehead before easing away, because if he doesn’t soon, he won’t at all.</p>
<p>“Is it working?”</p>
<p>Matthew hums as he turns to leave the kitchen, “Promise me a dance and I’ll go,” he says over his shoulder as he ducks under the frame.</p>
<p>The backdoor opens behind him, “Alright, a dance it is.”</p>
<p>He turns up the stairs and the backdoor shuts. He’s halfway up the stairs when the static clears from the radio below, blaring an ad for a used car dealership the next town over.</p>
<p>-----</p>
<p>The old pipes creak as he turns the water off and Matthew reaches out of the curtains to grab his towel, drawing it back into him to scrub it over his face and head, across his shoulders and over his chest. He thumbs over an old scar, two, three, then wraps it around his hips before he steps over the side of the tub onto the rug.</p>
<p>It’s soft and plush under his feet and hadn’t been here before he’d left.</p>
<p>He wonders how much else has changed as he scrubs his fingers through his hair, over the too short sides, and steps out of the bathroom without looking at his reflection.</p>
<p>The bedroom is clean, though empty may also work as a descriptor. There’s barely any clutter in the room still and he rifles through his duffle for his toiletries bag before dropping the rest of the bag to the floor, kicking it off to the corner. He puts his deodorant, razor, cologne, shaving cream, whatever other things had ended up in the bag in a line on the top of his dresser.</p>
<p>His sunglasses are still there, though not dusty like he’d expected and he wonders if Clayton’s been the one nicking them or if Aly has been. The picture of his mother smiles back at him, her old rosary still hanging around the corner, and it’s not dusty either.</p>
<p>He thinks about turning the picture around but doesn’t.</p>
<p>Routines are hard to break and he doesn’t bother trying on day one after seven months.</p>
<p>He’s dried off and dressed in no time, scrubbing his fingers through his hair like he’ll be able to do anything with the short length he’s got. Then he makes quiet circles of the room, back and forth, running his fingers over the comforter on the bed, the pillows, his own dresser.</p>
<p>He lingers at the window, looking out at the backyard, sees Arabella in her garden, can see one of Miriam’s feet sticking out from under the faded umbrella at the table. It takes him a moment to find Clayton, in the shade of the tool shed, a pile of lumber next to him as he uses the tablesaw to make careful cuts.</p>
<p>Swallowing, he rubs his chest and turns from the window.</p>
<p>Stops at Clayton’s dresser.</p>
<p>There’s more stuff on his dresser, old bullets, a pocket watch that doesn’t work, some loose change.</p>
<p>A candle, a half burnt bundle of sage.</p>
<p>A half bottle of bourbon.</p>
<p>And pictures in frames that aren’t dusty, all crammed into the space though some have migrated to hanging on the wall. There’s one of Arabella and Miriam, dancing at The Gem, bent close together and swaying. Aloysius’s shape silhouetted by the moon behind him. Arabella up to her elbows in dirt, working on the fledglings of her garden. Miriam in front of the window to her store on opening day.</p>
<p>Clayton sleeping with his hat tipped over his face, surrounded by nothing but sand and scrub on all sides.</p>
<p>Him and Clayton standing on the cliffs, backs to the camera, fingers linked between them.</p>
<p>There’s a few new ones that he doesn’t recognize.</p>
<p>Miriam on the dock of the lake, arms spread as she tips backwards into the water.</p>
<p>Another dark silhouette picture of Aloysius in front of the moon, though he has cards in his hand and who might be Arabella across from him, with cards in her hand as well.</p>
<p>Clayton up on a ladder against the side of the church, hammer in one hand, flipping the camera off with the other.</p>
<p>And there’s one of him that he doesn’t remember being taken, if he’d even known it was being taken to start. He thinks it’s at the airport, before he’d left, his back to the camera, already in uniform, duffle bag in one hand.</p>
<p>He touches the edge of the frame then clears his throat, shaking his head at himself as he steps away.</p>
<p>Without glancing back, he leaves the room, pulling the door shut with a soft click behind him.</p>
<p>-----</p>
<p>The radio goes static again as soon as he puts a foot back on the first floor and he scowls at the thing as he enters the kitchen. It statics louder at him as he steps closer, near shrieking as he reaches his hand out and cuts it off.</p>
<p>He sighs and heads out the backdoor.</p>
<p>-----</p>
<p>There’s a conversation happening as he crosses the dirt to the table and drags a chair out to sink into, opposite of Miriam. She grins at him, winks, “Was that the radio making that racket?” She asks, all faux innocence.</p>
<p>“Don’t tease the poor man!” Arabella calls and she’s got a smudge of dirt on her cheek as she yanks weeds out of the garden with her bare hands.</p>
<p>Miriam laughs, “I can’t help it,” she says and touches her hand to her chest, “That kicked puppy dog face he makes every time it happens just warms my soul.” She picks up her glass of lemonade and takes a long drink through the straw, wiggling her eyebrows at him and then cutting her gaze over to where Clayton is still cutting wood.</p>
<p>He narrows his eyes at her.</p>
<p>She sighs as she puts her glass back down but says nothing, “Bella, dear, you’re getting yourself all dirty,” she calls out, but she sounds too fond for it to be actual chastisement.</p>
<p>“I know how soap and water work,” Arabella near grumbles, but loud enough for them all to hear and makes a low sound in her throat as she makes a clipping off of some plant or another and adds it to her basket. Most of them are herbs, though he’d be hard pressed to differentiate any of them.</p>
<p>Except lavender and sage.</p>
<p>There’s little bits of lavender floating in Miriam’s lemonade.</p>
<p>The saw goes quiet and his eyes drift over to Clayton, finds Clayton looking back.</p>
<p>“My phone bit the dust,” he says to everyone, rubbing his jaw where stubble is finally coming back, “I think I might have to give up on having one.”</p>
<p>Miriam hums next to him, head tilting, “Here I thought that old Nokia could withstand even you and your—” she gestures at him with a wave of her hand, encompassing his entire body. He’s well beyond taking offense.</p>
<p>“How many computers did you kill?” Arabella asks as she comes over, depositing her basket on the table and taking the glass right from Miriam’s hand.</p>
<p>He scrunches his nose at the strong waft of smells from the basket, “Uh, three, before they stop letting me near them,” he shrugs his shoulders, “Said I was a technology jinx and went analog. Really dug a thorn into the higher ups sides with all the actual paperwork I was having to do.”</p>
<p>Arabella snorts as she sinks into the last empty chair, “Bureaucracy.”</p>
<p>He flips her a sarcastic two fingered salute, relishes in how she snorts around the lemonade, pausing to pinch her nose.</p>
<p>Miriam laughs softly, shaking her head, “Good riddance to them all,” she says and turns to kick him under the table, but her eyes are just beyond his shoulder, a warning without meaning to be one, “You’re ours now.”</p>
<p>A hand touches his shoulder, slides down to push him back against the chair, before Clayton sinks right into his lap, “Damn right,” he says, dropping his hat on the table, making a grab for the lemonade still in Arabella’s hand. She yanks it back, making him lurch for it, before handing it over.</p>
<p>Matthew slides an arm around his middle, presses his face against his shoulder. Clayton smells like sweat and sawdust and the faint spice of the cologne he’s used the whole time they’ve known each other. Nudging a kiss to his shoulder, he turns his head, finds Miriam watching him consideringly and turns his face back the other way.</p>
<p>She snorts, but the other two don’t stop bickering over absolutely nothing.</p>
<p>-----</p>
<p>To her credit, Miriam waits until Clayton’s up in the shower, the old pipes over their heads creaking as water rushes through. </p>
<p>Arabella is at the table, sorting out her herbs, bundling them to dry in the window, while he’s mixing up the batter for pancakes, because supposedly he’s the only one that makes them right and they haven’t had any since he left except for the soggy ones at the diner.</p>
<p>Matthew’s not sure how much he believes them, but Arabella and Clayton had teamed up against him, turning their bigs eyes up at him until he’d caved like the card houses that Clayton makes on the dining room table when the weather’s too bad for any of them to want to venture out. He pushes the bowl of mix away to rest for a few minutes while he digs in the cabinets and fridge to find whatever mix ins they might have.</p>
<p>When he pulls out of the fridge with blueberries, she’s waiting and he jerks so hard he smacks his elbow off the fridge. It rocks a little and they both go still, but it keeps whirring and the ice maker drops so they both breathe out, “Miriam,” he says calmly.</p>
<p>“Matthew,” she parrots and trails him the short distance to the counter, makes no move to help him as he pulls out bowls to divide the batter. Miriam and Aloysius like chocolate chips, Arabella likes blueberry and lemon zest, and Clayton likes plain with more syrup than should be legal. So he splits the batter as evenly as he can three ways.</p>
<p>They’d had an electric griddle at one point, but the fourth time he’d gone to use it, it’d fizzled and taken out power in the whole house for two days. The stove is gas though and only takes a little fiddling with the knobs before a flame flickers to life in the two largest burners.</p>
<p>He slides pans onto each, taps a little butter into two skillets.</p>
<p>She lifts herself to sit on the counter, though several inches from the stove, the bag of chocolate chips in her lap, “Are we not going to talk about it?”</p>
<p>“Nope,” he answers immediately as he starts scooping batter into the pans. The light above his head flickers but doesn’t give out. He stares at it for a second before switching his measuring scoop for a spatula, keeping it at the ready as he watches the pancakes starting to bubble at the edges.</p>
<p>A chocolate chip hits him on the cheek and falls to the floor, rolling away under the oven.</p>
<p>He sighs as he steps away to get a few plates for the finished pancakes, placing them to the right of the stove before he starts the process of flipping them, one at a time starting with the first he’d poured, trying to ignore the way Miriam is still watching him.</p>
<p>“Miriam,” Arabella says from the table, a quiet warning that they both know will probably go ignored but he appreciates it nonetheless.</p>
<p>The basement door creaks a little.</p>
<p>“It’s safe,” Arabella calls.</p>
<p>“Thank fu—thank goodness,” Aloysius calls and the basement door creaks more, then swings closed and a chair scrapes the floor. “Are we talking about it?”</p>
<p>“No,” Matthew says.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Miriam says, at the same time.</p>
<p>All the lights flicker and another chocolate chip hits him in the cheek.</p>
<p>“Men,” Miriam gripes quietly, then kicks him in the thigh, “You two can’t pretend like nothing happened before you left, its been seven months.” She holds one of the plates up so he can dish finished pancakes onto it with the spatula.</p>
<p>Matthew sighs very loudly, wishing that he could flee the kitchen, despite knowing that Miriam would just follow him. “I know how long its been,” he says to the pans as he pours more batter into each, “I haven’t even been back twelve hours,” he adds, a plaintive sort of plea that most likely won’t work.</p>
<p>“He hasn’t even been back eight hours,” Arabella calls helpfully.</p>
<p>Aloysius huffs and Matthew knows it’s coming, but it still doesn’t do anything for the heat that rushes up his neck and onto his face, “They haven’t even had welcome home sex, Mimi, give them a break!” He and Arabella start cracking up at the table and Matthew hunches his shoulders up towards his ears as he focuses on not burning the pancakes even as his cheeks burn.</p>
<p>“Be that as it may,” Miriam says and Aloysius guffaws and Matthew reconsiders all the choices that have led him to this moment, “Be that as it may,” she begins again, “who here really thinks they’ll talk about it if they put it off for more than thirty-six hours?”</p>
<p>Matthew doesn’t want to look, but he also didn’t want to wander through the hills with four strangers so he does it anyways, glancing over his shoulder.</p>
<p>Arabella has the decency of looking sheepish with her hand up, but Aloysius is grinning too wide and wiggles his fingers when he notices Matthew looking. Miriam is holding her hand right in his face when he turns back and the lights go out for several seconds and from upstairs, Clayton calls, “Matty!”</p>
<p>The lights come back on.</p>
<p>“Thank you!”</p>
<p>Matthew frowns at the pancakes as he turns them.</p>
<p>Miriam pats his shoulder, “I’m not trying to be mean,” she says quietly, “I care about you two and I want you to be happy.” One of the stairs creaks and they all know it’s purposeful, but Miriam sighs and slides off the counter.</p>
<p>“Are those almost done?” Aloysius asks as he’s sliding more finished pancakes onto a plate.</p>
<p>“Almost,” he answers as he starts dishing out more batter. There’s absolutely no such thing as too many pancakes in this house and he can practically hear stomachs growling where he is. His own notwithstanding, since the last thing he had was a burrito at the airport.</p>
<p>It’s quiet for too many seconds and then Clayton speaks from the doorway, “Alright, who was pestering Matthew this time?”</p>
<p>“Miriam,” Aloysius and Arabella chime at the same time.</p>
<p>“Traitors,” Miriam says cheerfully and Matthew shakes his head.</p>
<p>Hands touch his hips, a chin digs into his shoulder, and he can feel it when Clayton talks, “Smells good.”</p>
<p>He exhales quietly, twisting the spatula around in his grip, “You guys can dish out what’s already finished,” he says to the room at large, “I’m on the last batch.”</p>
<p>It’s like the dam breaks and there’s a flurry of activity as the finished plates are whisked off and the fridge opens and closes several times as well as the cabinets as everyone gathers all they need and retreats into the dining room.</p>
<p>Clayton doesn’t leave his back, pressing close so the others can squeeze behind him to get what they want, “You okay?” He asks, when the others are chattering in the next room over.</p>
<p>He nods, “All good.”</p>
<p>“Uh huh,” Clayton replies and digs a finger between his ribs before retreating, footsteps not audible as he leaves.</p>
<p>Arabella shrieks in the dining room and Matthew snorts as he flips the pancakes.</p>
<p>-----</p>
<p>They wait a bit longer, for the sun to finish setting, before they head out, cutting around the church instead of through it, Aloysius in the lead with his uneven gait not slowing him down in the slightest. Arabella and Miriam follow behind him, arms looped, heads bent together in conversation. Clayton’s walking to his right, silent as a shadow, their fingers knocking a few times before he tangles them together.</p>
<p>Neither of them attempts to break the silence that descends, but it’s not awkward. They’ve spent plenty of time in each other’s presence without making a sound before.</p>
<p>There’s more people out tonight than he expects there to be when they finally make it to the main thoroughfare and a bunch of people call out to him or the others and Clayton tucks closer to his side, like somehow he’ll disappear behind his bulk.</p>
<p>A line has formed outside of The Gem and there’s no pretending it’s for any other reason than a cheap shot night. Aloysius leads them right by the line or starts to, though he gets distracted talking to a few women in line, but Miriam and Arabella pick up his slack, carrying them right on. Johnny’s at the door and waves them right on in, claps him on the shoulder as he passes with a, “Glad to have you back, Father, maybe you can keep these folks out of trouble.”</p>
<p>Clayton scoffs at his side and Matthew grins, “I’ll do my best.”</p>
<p>The inside of the bar is dim, smells like cheap beer and smoke and he’s somehow missed it while he’s been gone. Or maybe it’s the company, watching the girls head right for the bar as he lets Clayton tug him to their usual table in the far corner. Clayton slides into the booth seat first and Matthew follows him, elbows on the table top as he waits for the others to join.</p>
<p>Miriam emerges first, twirling towards them, her hands full with Arabella just behind her, hands also full. “Dan said welcome back and your first shot was on the house,” she tells him cheerily as she doles out a shot for each of them.</p>
<p>“Real generous giving you a dollar shot for free,” Arabella drawls as she comes behind with a second shot for each of them.</p>
<p>“Dollar’s a dollar in this economy,” he says seriously.</p>
<p>Aloysius appears then, a smear of lipstick on his cheek, dragging a chair from another table to the end of the booth, “Folks, it is gonna be a good night,” he says, scooping up one of his shot glasses.</p>
<p>The rest of them scramble to get one up, inclining them towards the center of the table before tossing it back. Matthew grimaces at the terrible burn and Aloysius laughs, claps him hard on the back, “Don’t tell me you spent all seven months dry, Reverend?”</p>
<p>He swallows again, setting the glass on the table and holding up a finger.</p>
<p>Aloysius laughs loud and raucous and Arabella snickers, kicks him under the table, “You sayin’ we gotta build your tolerance up all over again?”</p>
<p>Clayton’s hand slides over his thigh, squeezes.</p>
<p>“Just cause the rest of you heathens are used to this terrible, watered down shit—”</p>
<p>“—I heard that!” Dan yells from several feet away at this end of the bar now.</p>
<p>Matthew snorts out a surprised laugh, “Terrible, watered down <i>stuff</i>!” He calls back.</p>
<p>“We’ve just been an awfully, terrible influence on you, Father,” Miriam says, grinning bright and wide, reaching for her second shot and the rest of them follow suit automatically. “To having our dear Matthew back.”</p>
<p>“For good now,” Clayton says quietly at his side and they all tip their shots back.</p>
<p>Aloysius and Arabella gather up the empty shot glasses and disappear back to the bar, both of their laughter carrying over the chatter. The band hasn’t started yet, though there’s music coming from somewhere. Probably upstairs, he’d have to guess, if they knew he was coming.</p>
<p>The hand on his thigh slides up and down, fingers brushing his inseam, and he sits back, draping his arm across the back of the booth, runs his fingers along the side of Clayton’s neck under his hair.</p>
<p>Miriam looks between them and shakes her head.</p>
<p>-----</p>
<p>He’s lost count of the shots by the time the band makes an appearance, Miriam and Arabella are out on the dancefloor and goodness knows where Aloysius has disappeared to. Clayton’s stayed tucked to his side for most of the night, only sliding out when one of the women drags him out to dance.</p>
<p>Band is a generous term, like most terms used in The Gem are, but it’s not actually terrible, so he’s plenty happy settling in with his warm buzz when Arabella appears, face flush and grinning, “Come dance, Matthew,” she says, taking his hand and tugging at him.</p>
<p>“Yes, Matthew, go dance,” Clayton teases, nudging him in the side. </p>
<p>Damn him, he looks like he hasn’t had a drop aside from a light flush to his cheeks that could easily be blamed on the stuffy warm air the crowd has generated.</p>
<p>He heaves a great sigh and levers himself up out of the booth, looking back helplessly at Clayton who only winks at him. Arabella tugs him through the crowd with her deceptive strength until they’re closer to the middle of the group, twists on the spot and draws him right in to her front. Over her shoulder, he can see Miriam dancing with Annabelle, Aloysius at the edge of the dance floor in a chair, whistling and clapping, egging them on.</p>
<p>“Matty!” Arabella jeers, clapping him on the shoulders before they start to dance, “I missed you,” she adds, at a lower volume, an arm over his shoulders, “We all did.”</p>
<p>Grinning, he wraps a loose arm around her back, twirling them around because he can, “I missed all of you too.”</p>
<p>“But you missed Clayton more,” she teases, wiggling her eyebrows and he can’t tell if she’s actually drunk or faking it to take the opportunity to poke and rib at him. Neither would surprise him at this point. “He was a real grouch while you were gone.”</p>
<p>He snorts, twists them so he can see Clayton, who’s at the bar watching them now, a glass in his hand, “He’s always a grouch, has been since we all met.”</p>
<p>She snickers and nods, like conceding the point.</p>
<p>They dance for a while, through the first song, then through a faster paced song, until he’s sweating and red faced and laughing. She bides her time well, catches him as they spin, Miriam’s now at the bar with Clayton, and asks, “So are you going to ask him again?”</p>
<p>He trips over his own feet, nearly stomps on hers, but she dances back fast enough, keeping him up with an arm around his back like it’s nothing.</p>
<p>She’s grinning when he finally lifts his gaze.</p>
<p>Licking his lips, he resists the urge to look and see if the others have noticed his fumble, trying to keep his back to Clayton and his focus on Arabella, even though she’s still grinning with an expectant eyebrow lifted at him. He rolls his shoulders, tips his head back and forth, and still has no answer for her, so he shrugs.</p>
<p>Her face softens into something like concern and she squeezes his shoulder, “Are you okay?”</p>
<p>He nods before he really considers the question, but even after considering it for a few steps, it’s true, “I’m glad to be home,” he tells her, “Glad to not have to go back.”</p>
<p>She smiles, “We’re all glad to have you back,” she says quiet, then louder, turning them suddenly, “Aren’t we, Clayton?”</p>
<p>Clayton is right there, eyes bright even in the dim light of the bar, and he slots into Arabella’s place with an ease, only grunts when she claps him on the shoulder, “We are,” he says gruffly. She laughs and smacks a loud kiss to Clayton’s cheek, wiggles her fingers in a wave as she heads in the direction of the bar, leaving them alone.</p>
<p>A slow song starts to play and he knows it’s on purpose, can’t find it in himself to be mad about it as he slides his palm against the small of Clayton’s back, closes the scant gap between them to sway pressed together. He tucks his cheek against the side of Clayton’s head, breathes him in, relishes in Clayton letting them have this right where everyone else can see.</p>
<p>Clayton’s palm in his is warm, the gust of his breath warm against his neck.</p>
<p>“I missed you,” he says finally.</p>
<p>There’s no sound from Clayton, there never is unless he’s purposeful about it, but Matthew can feel his inhale where their chests are pressed together. “I missed you too,” Clayton says finally, breath warm against Matthew’s collar and neck.</p>
<p>He hums low, with the music, matches it, humming gently through the song as they sway together.</p>
<p>They don’t talk for the rest of the song, though Clayton sinks more and more against him as it goes, until they’re barely moving at all, feet shuffling against the floors.</p>
<p>The song ends and Matthew doesn’t want to move, but Clayton pulls away and he lets him, hands hovering at Clayton’s side, not quite touching any longer as Clayton peers up at him. A hand curls around his wrist, lightning fast, tugs as Clayton turns from him, voice barely audible, “Lets go for a walk.”</p>
<p>People part for Clayton without seeming to realize they’re doing it and, for once, Matthew follows in his wake.</p>
<p>-----</p>
<p>A breeze has kicked up outside, wind whistling through the buildings and nothing else that make up Deadwood. Matthew thinks it’s a good as excuse as any to crowd close to Clayton’s side, to drape an arm over his shoulders.</p>
<p>Clayton burrows closer without comment, they both know he runs cold, always starts grumbling and complaining when he’s cold.</p>
<p>They end up in front of the church, where his truck sits, and Matthew leans against the front end while he watches Clayton pace circles in the dirt. No sense in trying to rush him, Clayton will talk when he’s ready, Matthew knows that better than anyone.</p>
<p>The wind blows through again and he watches Clayton shiver, offers a hand to him.</p>
<p>Clayton’s eyes are bright blue, lightning in the middle of a storm, electric as he stares at Matthew’s offered hand. He reaches out finally, takes it, but instead of stepping closer into the warmth being offered, he turns it. Palm down, thumb brushing over Matthew’s knuckles, and his throat bobs with a thick swallow.</p>
<p>And then he sinks to one knee, right there in the dirt, in the shadow of the looming half burnt church.</p>
<p>Matthew’s heart thunders so loud, he’s sure Clayton can hear it.</p>
<p>It’s quiet again, nothing but the pound of Matthew’s heart and the whistling of the wind as a soundtrack. And Clayton still hasn’t looked up at him, is still looking at their hands, the fan of his eyelashes not enough to contain how bright his eyes are.</p>
<p>Then Clayton’s gaze flicks up to him and Matthew might forget to breath, “Marry me.”</p>
<p>Matthew sucks in a great breath suddenly, chokes on it a little, grip going tight around Clayton’s hand. He realizes now why they’re here, away from all the technology he probably would’ve fried otherwise. Clayton is still staring up at him so Matthew nods suddenly, furiously, “Yeah, yes, okay.”</p>
<p>Clayton surges up and their teeth clack hard, until Matthew cups his cheeks, slows him down, eases them into a slick slide of tongues, swallows Clayton’s quiet gasp.</p>
<p>They break apart slowly and Matthew rubs his thumbs against Clayton’s cheeks, can’t even summon up anything to say as Clayton turns to kiss his palm, mustache and beard scraping against his skin.</p>
<p>“I’m not letting you go this time, Matthew Mason,” Clayton says against his skin, looking at him through his lashes, like he’s daring Matthew to contradict him. As if Matthew would ever think to. Not now, not anymore. Not when he’s found this and left it behind and come back.</p>
<p>“I love you,” he says instead.</p>
<p>Clayton releases his hand, musters a small smile up at him, “I love you too,” he replies, then tucks in close, fits himself under Matthew’s chin, “You still have that ring.”</p>
<p>Matthew exhales, wraps his arms around Clayton’s shoulders, “Course I do.”</p>
<p>“I’ll wear it,” Clayton says.</p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<p>Clayton smudges a kiss against the side of his neck and settles against him, and that’s where they are when Miriam and Arabella and Aloysius came laughing and calling up the dirt path, rambunctious with the sliver of the moon and alcohol.</p>
<p>Matthew is very glad to be home.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i'm on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/vowofenmity">@vowofenmity</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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